


Closer to God

by doctor__idiot



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Daddy Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Teasing, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 08:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12553300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Sam is thirty-three and no less of a little shit than he was two decades ago.





	Closer to God

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [SPN Kink Bingo](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.com) square "daddy kink". 
> 
> I have no shame. 
> 
> This is most likely going to be the last part in this series of prompts because the challenge is over November 1 and I'm so crazy busy at the moment that it's half a miracle I even managed to write this. So yeah, it was fun while it lasted and I did much better than I did last year. Win?

“Daddy!”

Sam hasn’t been an easy child, not for years, and John isn’t exactly any help, which means a seven-year-old Dean has to scramble to pick up the slack. He responds to Sammy’s cries for John and picks the toddler up from the floor where he has fallen and hurt his knee.

“Hey there, Sammy, don’t cry,” he says, pleading a little desperately, and clumsily wipes his baby brother’s tears from his chubby cheeks. “Here, let me see.”

He kneels down, brushing dirt and pebbles off Sam’s overalls. He tugs up the pant leg over the knee the boy is pointing to and takes in the scrape. It’s barely anything, isn’t even bleeding, so he doesn’t bother waking up John from his coma-like sleep on the couch. He blows cold air against his brother’s knee, then places a baby-wet kiss against the inside, next to the wound.

“You’re gonna be okay, Sammy. ’s barely a scrape.”

The boy hiccups a couple of times but he’s stopped crying. Dean picks him up, grunting a little with the weight of his brother, who’s still so little but steadily growing, and carries him inside.

 

“Come on, daddy, please?”

Sam rarely breaks out the ‘daddy’ these days unless he wants something. Usually it’s either ‘dad’ or ‘John’ when he’s pissed and spoiling for a fight. He’s just turned fourteen, right in the middle of a growth spurt and he hasn’t learned yet how to coordinate his limbs. He frequently trips over his own feet or knocks into furniture, which tends to be followed by a string of cuss words very advanced for his age. It’s probably Dean’s good influence.

“Sam, we talked about this,” John says without looking up from his journal, “You can go hang out with your friends when we’re done with this case. It’s important.”

“I can do the research after,” Sam continues arguing and Dean winces where he’s sat at the table, cleaning their guns.

John finally lifts his eyes to his youngest. “And risk that more people die? You really wanna have that on your conscience, son?”

Sam opens his mouth and Dean is about to say something, not knowing whether he’s going to side with his brother or his dad before the words come out of his mouth, but then Sam stomps his feet and vacates the room in a huff. Dean slumps back in his chair, wiping a hand over his face while John goes back to taking notes in his journal as if it’s just another day at the office.

 

Sam has got his backpack slung over one shoulder, his too-big T-shirt, one of Dean’s hand-me-downs, exposing the pointy bone of it. He finishes tying his shoes and straightens up.

Dean kicks up his feet on the couch table because John isn’t around to yell at him for it – despite the fact that this isn’t their home and he does it himself.

His sixteen-year-old brother is getting ready to go and meet people Dean doesn’t know and Dean thinks he caught Sam saying something about a party on the phone to a friend earlier, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s not going to pull a John Winchester and make Sam do research until he falls asleep in the library to help with the case. He wants Sam to enjoy his youth while it lasts, even if there’s a slight stabbing sensation in his chest when he looks at his brother who’s shrugging into his jacket.

“You gonna be home late?” he asks, trying to sound neutral.

Sam shoots back, “Dunno.”

“You call if you stay past midnight, you hear?”

Sam _audibly_ rolls his eyes, Dean isn’t even sure how he does it, and snorts drily. “Sure, _daddy._ ”

Then he’s out the door like lightning, leaving Dean feeling weirdly bereft.

 

Sam is eighteen when he kisses Dean for the first time. It’s sloppy and he’s drunk and Dean pulls away almost immediately but still.

“Sam, what the fuck?”

Dean is holding onto his brother’s shoulders because despite his shock he’s scared Sam will crumble to the floor when he lets go. He’s unsteady on his feet, clutching at Dean’s collar as he sways near.

“No,” Dean says with emphasis and Sam halts about an inch from Dean’s mouth.

“Sound jus’ like dad,” he mutters, “Maybe–maybe I should s’art callin’ you ‘daddy’.” He grins as if he’s made a joke but Dean suddenly has a hard time swallowing.

“Sam,” he starts a little shakily, “God, you’re drunk, we can’t–please let me go.”

His brother grins up at him, eyes wide and blazing, pink flush high on his cheeks. He licks his lips and it’s beyond obscene. “Whatever you say, daddy.”

 

“You know,” Dean says, a little breathless, as Sam manhandles him onto his back and out of his jeans, “This ain’t exactly what I had in mind when I said ‘let’s go to bed’. For once, you’re the one with your mind in the gutter.”

Sam strips him of his underwear, then rips his own T-shirt over his head and crawls over Dean on the bed. “You complaining?”

He’s got his head tilted to the side, too-long hair flopping into his face and he looks a bit like a dog with a toy. Maybe a wolf. Dean shivers.

“No,” he shakes his head, “Carry on.”

His brother flashes him a knowing smile before he drops to his elbows, palms fitting over Dean’s hipbones, and he takes Dean’s half-hard length into his mouth without warning. Dean’s hand flies into that stupid mop of hair and he gives a startled shout when Sam swallows around him, twirls his clever tongue around the tip, coaxing Dean to full hardness in what feels like two seconds flat.

“Christ,” he moans, dropping his head back into the pillow. Sam isn’t even fully undressed yet and Dean would complain about that if he could find his voice.

His hips buck up, he can’t really stop himself, and Sam pushes him back down, fingertips almost bruising on either side of Dean’s hips, and Dean presses his hand over his mouth against a whimper. He’s not entirely successful, though, judging from Sam’s muffled laugh, vibrations only sending more sparks of arousal through Dean’s body.

“Sam, I–“ He tugs at his brother’s hair and Sam pulls off him, shiny lips and hazy eyes trained on Dean.

“Already?” he asks, voice laced with surprise and barely contained amusement.

Dean huffs, tugs at his hair again in retaliation. “Get up here.”

Sam grins again, then reaches down and unhooks his belt, undoes his fly, and kicks off his jeans. Dean pushes them off the edge of the bed with his left foot. He wraps his arms around Sam’s shoulders, tugging him down for a kiss. He can taste his own precum and it makes him sigh into Sam’s mouth, his fingers ghosting along the cut of Sam’s jaw, below his ears, eliciting a shiver.

Dean tries to sit up, pushing against Sam’s shoulders, and huffs when Sam doesn’t budge. “Can you–“

“Patience.” Sam kisses him again, licks into his mouth until Dean has nearly forgotten what he was trying to do, but then Sam stretches up and reaches into the nightstand drawer for him, pulling out their bottle of lube.

Dean grabs for it but Sam holds it out of reach, then throws it to the foot of the bed. “Give me some credit.”

Before Dean can ask what for, he’s pushed Dean’s legs wider and slid down to be level with Dean’s crotch again but this time, he bypasses Dean’s cock entirely and presses his palms against the back of Dean’s thighs, urging his legs out of the way.

“Sam,“ Dean gasps as he lets his brother maneuver his legs over his shoulders and he digs his heels into the muscles of Sam’s back. His fingers curl in the bedspread as anticipation forms a tight coil in his belly.

The first touch of his brother’s tongue against his hole makes Dean blow out the breath he’s been holding. He tilts his head back, toes curling, as Sam licks at him slowly and carefully as if it’s the first time they’re doing this. His hips jerk off the bed when Sam points his tongue and starts to open him up properly. A low moan rips from his throat, the nerves in his body frayed and raw, and Sam hums contently as if he’s praising him.

Dean tilts his hips higher automatically, opening his legs wider to give Sam easier access and Sam slides his hands up Dean’s thighs, grabbing the back of his knees to hold him open. Dean is so close to whimpering, pleading with him for more, for anything, because Sam keeps the same agonizing pace, taking his sweet time as if Dean isn’t going to come all over himself in approximately five seconds.

Two of Sam’s fingers join his tongue, pushing into Dean with steady pressure and Dean shouts, the bedsheet creaking as he crumples it beyond repair, fingernails almost tearing holes into the cotton. Sam sits up then, kneeling between Dean’s spread legs, and his fingers press deeper, rubbing over his prostrate, bitter-sweet torture. He does it again and again, watching his own fingers disappear into Dean’s body and he looks relaxed enough that he could draw it out forever and Dean is so close, he just needs a little more of … anything.

“Sam, please, come on,” he pants, reaching his hand out to hold onto Sam’s forearm, desperate for some sort of contact, but Sam pulls away and adds another finger. Dean falls back onto the bed with the increased stretch, eyes shut against the burn but it’s good, so good, he just wishes Sam would finally move this along and fuck him. His body involuntarily clenches around Sam’s fingers, signaling impatience and growing need, and that’s when the the first noise comes from Sam. He lets out a quiet moan, watching Dean from under sweaty bangs, and his cock is hard, jutting out pink from between his legs.

“You know what you gotta say,” he says, sounding entirely too collected for Dean’s liking.

Dean sucks in a huge breath, fruitlessly trying to calm his pounding heart as Sam continues the assault on his prostate. Quick little rubs of his fingers, slow and easy, but it’s shaking Dean apart, so turned on he can barely form a coherent thought.

Suddenly, Sam’s fingers are gone and Dean is unsure whether to be relieved or frustrated. He watches Sam reach behind himself for the lube, opening it and dribbling some of the clear liquid onto his cock. He closes a large hand around himself, distributing the slick and stroking himself with languid movements. Dean can’t seem to close his mouth, breaths coming in short pants as Sam moans again, eyes closed, lost in his own world for a moment.

Dean licks his dry lips. “Come on, Sammy, I–“

Sam’s eyes snap open and without taking his left of his dick, he delivers a quick slap to Dean’s ass with his right. “How many times do I have to tell you?“ he asks, looming over Dean and if this wasn’t Sam, if this wasn’t Dean’s little brother whom he’s known all his life, it might actually be a little scary.

The skin where Sam smacked him stings and warms against the mattress. Dean swallows, heat shooting into his face.

He gets no other warning than the hitch in Sam’s breath before there is another smack, on the other cheek this time, making his whole body jolt.

Sam leans in and puts his lips right next to Dean’s ear. “How many times, huh? It’s ‘Sam’.”

Dean doesn’t think he can speak but he thinks he might have to when Sam withdraws a little and looks at him expectantly. “Got it?”

“Yes.” It’s like a punch coming out of him and even that little word sounds way too reverent for his licking. Predictably, Sam smirks.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, _Sam_.”

Sam chuckles. “Nice try. You know what I wanna hear.”

“Fuck you.” It kind of loses its bite with how much Dean is panting, unable to stop the little whining sounds coming from the back of his throat when Sam inches loser, knees sliding against the outside of Dean’s hips, and he’s _almost_ entering him, just that tiny bit too far away, and Dean arches his back to get himself there.

Sam rocks back onto his haunches, keeping himself out of reach. “That’s not it, baby.”

“Oh god, just–please!” Dean would deny it if he could but he can’t. He’s actively begging now. An hour ago, he wasn’t even in the mood for sex, tired and on his way to collapse into bed and sleep, and here he is. Pleading with his little brother to fuck him stupid.

“Look,” Sam says and it’s almost condescending, the way he tilts his head, the way his mouth curls, the way he still won’t give Dean what he’s craving, “You’re begging so beautifully already. Why not just tell me what I wanna hear?”

Sam is thirty-three and no less of a little shit than he was two decades ago. Dean reaches for him and it’s a small victory when Sam lets himself be pulled in and kissed, Dean’s shaky hands holding on tight to his shoulders. His cock is nudging against Dean’s hole and Dean shudders with the teasing promise of it. “I–I can’t–“

Sam brushes his mouth along Dean’s cheek, a gentle touch that completely contradicts his cruelty. “I know how good you can be for me.” He kisses Dean softly, almost chastely. “Always so eager to please.”

He rolls his hips into Dean, the tip of his cock just barely breaching Dean, stretching him wide but sinking in no more than about an inch. Dean whimpers while Sam soothes him with his palms over Dean’s quivering stomach. “Such a good boy for me.”

Dean near-sobs, body shiny with sweat as he’s wrapping himself around Sam, trying to get closer, to get _more_. “Okay, y–yes,” he rasps, “ _Fine_. Please, daddy. Fuck me, daddy, wanna be–wanna be so good for y– _Jesus!_ ”

Dean digs his nails into Sam’s shoulder blades as he’s suddenly filled completely, Sam’s cock opening him without mercy and the stretch squeezes the breath from his lungs.

Sam’s grin is strained above him. “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

“God, I hate you so much.” Dean’s voice is trembling but he can’t stop a small breathy laugh from tumbling out of his mouth. He winds his fingers into his brother’s hair and tugs him down, spreading his thighs wide around Sam’s hips.

He bites his lips when Sam starts moving, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, making Dean gasp for air. They’re barely kissing now, mostly just sharing breaths in the space between their mouths, and Dean clings to his brother, his hands slipping on Sam’s sweaty skin, nails digging little marks into broad shoulders.

“Come on,” Dean goads him, pressing his mouth against the underside of Sam’s jaw, feeling his pulse jump against his lips. “Come on, fuck me like you mean it.”

Sam gives a strung-out laugh, pulls back a little. He grabs for Dean’s arms, pushing them over his head and pinning them to the mattress by the wrists. Dean squirms, trying to get more friction for his dick against Sam’s stomach but Sam sits up, not permitting Dean the contact.

Dean knows he isn’t getting what he wants today until he plays by Sam’s rules. He lets his eyes drift shut, angling his hips into Sam’s frustratingly slow thrusts. His spine curves with how deep he can feel him but it’s not enough to bring him to orgasm, especially since he can’t get a hand on himself.

“Sam–” he starts, then catches himself. “Daddy, please let me–I need–”

“Need what?” Sam looks down at the place where they are connected and slows down even further, circling and grinding his hips against Dean rather than thrusting. “I’ll take good care of you. Just tell me what you need.”

Dean whimpers, wriggles his hips to get Sam to start moving again. “Need to come. I wanna–wanna come.”

“Ask me nicely.”

Dean groans, shivers. “Please, daddy, make me come.”

Sam finally, thankfully gives in and picks up the pace, fucking Dean with deep, steady thrusts that drag across his prostrate on every stroke and it’s almost too much. Exhausted body torn between pain and pleasure and Dean is so desperate for release that he claws at Sam’s back, nonsensical pleas spilling out of his mouth and Sam shushes him, presses gentle, closed-mouth kisses against Dean’s jaw, his cheek, his temple.

“Come for me, baby,” he says, shoving deep over and over, making room for himself inside Dean, and Dean keens, grabs for him and presses close. He bucks his hips up, trapping his aching cock between their bodies, clenching around Sam, who moans.

Sam bites his bottom lip as Dean shudders through his orgasm, eyes rolling into the back of his head and he swears he can feel the warmth of Sam’s own climax inside of him before everything goes a little fuzzy.

Sam is lying beside him, nuzzling the point where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder, when Dean blinks back into awareness. He groans, muscles aching, and Sam snorts a laugh beside him, pressing a soft kiss right over his tattoo.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters, lifting his leaden hand to thread his fingers through Sam’s sweaty hair. “You and your fuckin’ weirdo kinks.”

He can feel his brother’s chuckle more than he can hear it, chest vibrating against his own. “Oh, alright,” Sam drawls, “So I guess we’re pretending you didn’t just come so hard you passed out.”

“Fuck you, Sam. I hate you so much.”

Sam snorts and flings his arm across Dean’s waist, snuggling closer. Dean grunts when his sore body is being jostled, then rolls his eyes when he catches Sam grinning up at him. “I love you.”

Dean huffs, trying to sound indignant but he’s doomed to fail because he’s tired and this is Sam. “I know, Sammy. Me too.”


End file.
